


Inhuman

by Legna



Series: 1D Horror [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood, Blood Kink, Character Death, Emotional Baggage, Horror, M/M, Mention of abuse, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Horror, Sexual Content, Torture, Victim!Zayn, Violent Sex, murderer!liam, psycho!liam, serialkiller!liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legna/pseuds/Legna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I go to work and shops from the grocery stores and deposit all of my paychecks in a checking account so I can feel like a human. I smile at strangers and say greetings just to be nice so I can feel like I am part of the human race. I do basic activities and I follow the everyday norms, well, not all of them, and I do <em>human</em> things….so that no other human would suspect that I am not human.</p><p> </p><p>I am Liam Payne and I kill humans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another horror fic that I wanted to get out of my head...
> 
> Read the warnings and tags because it's not going to be pretty
> 
> If you send hate or call me a sick, twisted freak.....believe me sweetheart, that shit ain't new.
> 
> and this is my first fic to write in first person. Feels weird.

I go to work and shops from the grocery stores and deposit all of my paychecks in a checking account so I can feel like a human. I smile at strangers and say greetings just to be nice so I can feel like I am part of the human race. I do basic activities and I follow the everyday norms, well, not all of them, and I do _human_ things….so that no other human would suspect that I am not human.

I am Liam Payne and I kill humans. I consume them too. I’ve found numerous ways of torture and inductions of fear. The responses that my victims give to me is thrilling and fulfilling and they never failed to make me orgasm or to put a smile on my face. 

The nicest people can be the most underestimated people because when one meets a very nice person, one would automatically assumes that the person is not capable of murder, rape, torture, or creating chaos. The first impression is, oh, that person is happy and she or he is living a good life and they have never had or will have a bad side. The nicest people are underestimated and that drives me nuts.

The people who had a bad history are labeled as damaged goods. They will fuck up again. They destroy shit. That’s always the first assumption. But the nicest people? They get a smile or a hello and everyone passes them by with no idea of their true lifestyle. For example, I am very nice and quite generous. I give money to charity, I volunteered at a soup kitchen a few times, and I help out like the nice and considerate individual that I am but let’s not forget that I could murder your mother. I am capable of kidnapping your sister or daughter. I would have an urge to torture and sodomize your son or brother. One would have absolutely no idea of that…simply because one is fooled by the mask of nice. A nice person.

That drives me insane.

That builds up rage inside of my tainted soul. I have all of this rage and the best outlet to subside it, is taking away a human being’s life.

At this moment, taking away Zayn’s life would be so satisfying but the first thing to achieve is fornication.

Like a human, I visited a club and stayed for a few drinks, listening to the latest music and some throwbacks. Women had approached me but I’ve approached men. I believe my persona doesn’t give off the fact that I am a homosexual. Soon, I’ve found my new victim, Zayn. I didn’t ask for his last name because that does not matter to me. Zayn is only a few centimeters shorter than me. His skin is tan and his face is clean, minimal of acne. I can admit that his outlook is very attractive, almost perfect. He’s wearing a graphic t-shirt, displaying his love for a dead rapper and tight, black jeans that shows how thin his legs are, along with white and black Nike sneakers. Overall, his image is urban and trendy. We both are the same age: twenty-five and are in our prime time but I can tell that I am doing better than him.

“Drink?” I ask as I pour myself a small glass of Balcones Fifth Anniversary on the rocks, at my small station with varieties of the best and expensive liquor. Balcones is one of the highest rated whiskey bourbon. Its distinct taste of spicy and sweetness is nearly perfected with that morsel hint of a vanilla fragrant. I suggested the drink to Zayn, despite his denial because this will be the best straight bourbon that he will ever taste.

We sip our liquor in silence and with glances, sending subliminal messages. Mine is, what are you doing with your life? His message is most likely to be, when are we going to fuck? I can see it in his eyes; they are the same color as my eyes, maybe a bit lighter. Nonetheless, I can see, feel and sense the lust, the impatience, the annoyance, that primal urge to rip someone’s clothes off…..my clothes in particular.

Before the sex, I must get to know my victims. One of my goals before taking away their life is to see through a window to their mind and what is stored inside. I like to be aware of their fears, their strengths, their weaknesses, their guilty pleasures and what is resistant to them. Having knowledge of my victims’ basic yet deep and personal information help narrows which torturous and horrid methods I could use on them so I can see their faces in pain and shock and when they scream and when they beg for freedom and panics as if the world is ending….

“What do you do, Zayn?” I led him to sit on my black, leather couch in the living area of my penthouse. It’s big enough for a couple. It’s too big for me but I appreciate extra space. The first thing I requested was at least a three-thousand square feet penthouse or loft. My real estate agent was too nice, going through places and places to find the perfect home for me. I genuinely thanked her then stabbed her in the back, literally.

“Uh, I DJ. I DJ at the club.” Zayn seems uncomfortable about telling me what he does. Clearly, he’s ashamed of his job. He want something more or something better; something that he could feel proud of. It’s either that or he’s not used to sharing anything about himself.

I smile anyway, just to be nice and human. “That’s nice. That kind of job sounds like fun. But tell me, with that job, do you feel like you’ve met up with your potential?” I know that I am being an invading asshole but let’s not forget that I am attempting to complete my goal.

Zayn shrugs, in an unsure manner and sips on the bourbon, nearly finishing it. “I-I don’t know. I guess so. Why do you ask?”

I ignores his question, moving this conversation along to a pace so it can benefit us both. “Did you graduate high school?”

“Yes.”

“Did you attend college? Technical? Community college or university?”

“Community. What the hell does that-“

I cut him off because my patience is beginning to wear thin. A person questioning my intentions on why I interview them, adds to my rage. Basically, I put thought into my plans based on personality. The boring the person is, the boring the murder would be. If there’s an inch of excitement coming from one human, they will get an extra cut or two, or an eyeball scooped out instead of being usually plucked. It’s no fun to pluck an eyeball. The mess of the fluid and blood oozing out on my fingers is not worth it, especially when on one occasion months ago, some fluid had squirted directly in my left eye.

“I want to get to know you. Just a little. Is that too much to ask?”

Zayn shrugs, then relaxes his shoulders. I can see his guilt for questioning me. “My bad. I find it weird that you’re being so nice to me. I thought we were going to, you know…” Zayn makes an obvious face to hint at sex. “And….i didn’t expect you to actually want to get to knowing me.”

I laugh in his face, but in a friendly way. “I’m not like every other one night stand. If we’re going to fuck, I believe there is to be a connection between the two parties, at least a verbal connection if not a strong physical one minus the emotional connection. More bourbon?” Zayn shook his head to decline my hospitality. I took his dirty glass, including mine to the kitchen area and placed them in the sink. 

I gave an announcement to Zayn, walking out of the kitchen and to my master bedroom. “My bedroom is this way.” I can hear his feet rapidly walking on the floor behind me as I enter my room, extracting only my gray suede shoes and my black Armani leather jacket, leaving them on the chestnut colored hardwood floor. I sat on the bed while Zayn stands in front of me with a small smile and no knowledge of who exactly I am.

I continued the previous subject of conversation so I can figure out what I want to do with him. “Did you graduate college?”

He shook his head again, with a defeated expression. “No. School wasn’t my thing.” He shares, walking closer. I held up my right hand to signal as stop. He backs up a few inches as a precaution.

“So, you attended college and you didn’t receive any type of certificate?”

If he says yes, perhaps I won’t slit at his throat. If he says no…

“No, I didn’t. Like I said, school wasn’t my thing. Are we going to do this yet or what?” His body language is tense; his limbs are shaking from the cold air or probably nerves. This is when I observes his tattoos on his arms. Some of them are nicely done and detailed and some of them aren’t so special; just typical and traditional tattoos that every other young adult do have.

“School is a place to help overcome your fears such as public speaking and forming connections with other people to work on a project if you’re a major introvert. You learn things yet you’re tested on your memory and dedication to be at a worthy place in your life when you’re around thirty or forty. Going to school means opportunities to change your life in a positive way or to make a difference. You missed out on those opportunities which tell me….” I didn’t finish my thought. I nodded my head, already planning out his death. This will be fun.

“Do me a favor and strip for me.” My eyes travel from Zayn’s head to his toe. His nudity is very much needed for me to get aroused. One of my fetishes is a view of a beautiful, slim body; preferably smaller than mine. “Do it slowly.” I requested, blinking up at the man. Zayn slowly takes off his t-shirt at a gradual speed, revealing the rest of his tattoos. My penis twitches slightly, forming to a semi but I am not fully erect. “The pants and underwear too.” With no fear or shame, he slowly pulls his pants and boxers down with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye. As he do this, purposely teasing me and not breaking eye contact, I become more erect and dizzy of lust rushing from my cock to my brain. Even though I feel this certain way, it wouldn’t cloud my judgment or make me forget my original plan.

“What’s your favourite position?” I ask, standing from the bed and I push Zayn on the bed, basically switching places with him. He stares at the covered outline of my cock, which is only a few feet away from his face. It’s all that he could stare at besides looking up at me. He licks his lips, gazing with a hunger of a pornographic star. “I like back shots. I like to be…on my stomach, getting back shots.”

“Anything else?”

He shook his head for the third time. How boring. A twink who only likes being fucked while he’s on his stomach. The back shots that I will give him, won’t be back shots that he is likely to be used to.

“Okay. Lie down on your stomach. I’ll be right back. Stupid me….I forgot the condom and lube.” I just lied. Most of my condoms and two bottles of water based lubricant resides in the top, black drawer of my nightstand. Zayn lies on his stomach, smiling and waiting as I exit my bedroom to a room that could be a second bedroom but it is my storage room.

Inside of this room, there are different lines of ropes. I have a straw rope. I have a leather rope. Wire rope…something I have created recently. Twenty rolls of duct tape. Clamps, chains, shackles and bear traps. Screwdrivers…short and long ones, claw hammers, a sledge hammer and metal rods. Metal rods are great alternatives to butt plugs. Butcher knife, bowie class, daggers, carving knife, scalpels, hatchets, cleavers, machetes and a paper knife. Syringes, pins, nails and screws. Nail gun, handgun, a Blaser rifle and a semiautomatic.

Oh, and a taser.

The taser is my favourite.

These are the objects and devices lined up on the tables and in drawers and carefully placed on the wall. I spent thousands of dollars for these particular objects. The reason for the expensive things is because I crave quality if not quantity. It’s sad that most humans pays for necessities at a low price with no warranty and no guarantee that it is of quality.

I grab a roll of duct tape, a straw rope and metal rods. This isn’t all that Zayn will get.


	2. Chapter 2

Going back to the master bedroom, I can see that Zayn is probably nearly asleep. I’m sure that I didn’t take that long to get my things for him. It must have been three minutes, tops. I place the objects on the floor in front of the bed so that he won’t see them. “Zayn? You’re awake?”

“Mm-hmm.” He mumbles, wiggling his ass to assure me. He’s awake but only resting his eyes, I believe. I don’t blame him for almost falling asleep because it is 2:34 in the morning. “Are we gonna fuck now? I’m so fucking horny, man.” He groans, slightly humping my king sized memory mattress.

“Only if you’re okay with me tying you up. I’m into that kind of thing.” I crossed my arms and waits for his reaction. Surprisingly, he’s taking it well than I thought.

“Sure. We can do that.” Zayn smiles, biting his lips. He turns his head to look back at me. “I’m into that stuff too. Don’t worry, man. No judgment here.” He lays his head back on my pillow, closing his eyes again. “Just don’t be too rough, yea’?” He asks that from me. It will never dawn on Zayn that he is asking the wrong person.

“Of course. I’m gentle.” I tell him, grabbing the rope. I had cut the rope in four pieces. Two are four feet long and the other two of them are five feet long. “Spread your legs.” I ordered, taking a five feet long rope. Zayn complies with no issue or questioning so it’s easy for me to tie his left ankle and to attach the other end of the rope through a hole that I made on the footboard. I move on the other ankle, tying another piece of rope around his ankle, forming a knot which is for sure that the rope will irritate his skin.

“Are you doing my hands too?” Zayn asks.

“Yes.”

I took another piece of rope, the five feet long one, and ties it around Zayn’s wrist as tight as possible so that he won’t escape or attempt to loosen up the rope. I pull the end of the rope through another hole made in my black headboard. Zayn looks up at me questioningly so I smile at him.

“You’re such a good boy, you know that? I’m glad you’re being a good boy, Zayn.”

I can hear his breath hitching and I noticed his hips moving faster against my bed. “Fuck, man. You’re really kinky. I like that. I fuckin’ like that.” His growling is turning me on and the sight of him becoming desperate and wanting…for me and turned on by my kinks. My dangerous, torturous and barbaric kinks.

He just might be the best victim I’m having so far.

“Hurry and do something. I’ve waited all night for you.” He buries his head in my pillow, grinding his hips slowly and leaks his precum on the white duvet. That makes me angry. The Valerie duvet was hard to get. I’ve spent hours online because they do not sell them in stores. I was not prepared and I had forgotten to buy an extra set….just in case if Zayn would bleed on my bed.

“Sure thing. Just hold on.” I open the second drawer of my nightstand, reaching inside to retrieve my leather fitted gloves. “No glove, no love, right?” I stated and Zayn laughs. His head is still buried on my pillow so it came out as muffled. His laugh sounded airy yet childish.

“Right.” He agrees quickly as I secure my gloves on my hands. I take out the condom as well from the top drawer. I open the packet, taking out the condom and rolls it from the head of my cock down to my shaft. Climbing on the bed and hovering over Zayn to see him so submissive and having an open mind stirs feelings of happiness, joy, lust and fervor….not every victim would actually agree to do things that I want to do.

Zayn moans from my lips kissing on his shoulders then on his neck. “Come on….fuck me or something.”

Not just yet did I want to put my cock inside of him. I want to taste him. I want him to scream and beg for me. Beg for sex, beg for more…and beg for his life. Beg for staying alive and beg for keeping a body part. I want him to beg for everything.

I move down to his ass, licking a long strip from his upper body down to the top of his ass crack. “Do you like getting ate out?” I ask, placing a thumb against his asshole. Zayn groans from that simple touch, pushing his ass back for more.

“Yeesss, yes, yes, yes. Please. I want it. Do it now, please.” He grinds faster on my bed and against my thumb. He makes these….little whimpering sounds and he pants like a dog waiting for a treat. However, he can’t make too much heavy movements because of being properly tied up.

I spend the next six minutes spreading his ass cheeks and keeping them open as I licked, sucked, and ate out his asshole, tasting the inside of him. He’s almost odorless and tasteless. His ass is perfect, round, small and taut.

“Shit! Liam, fuck me now! I’m begging you. I can’t wait any fuckin’ longer!”

His asshole clenches on my tongue, trying to squeeze me out. “Fine.” I mumbles, extracting myself from him and the bed to get the metal rods. They’re three inches long and an inch thick. In my corrupted, sick mind, I have a belief of these rods being the best alternative to simple, comfortable and normal butt plugs. Imagine these rods sticking up inside of a person’s open cavity, painfully poking at every nerve, every fiber of tissue…..the feel of the cold metal creaking inside with no lubricant or no gram of moisture, can be utmost uncomfortable, lying on the verge of an agonizing burn.

I gave no warning. I stuck one inside of Zayn, immediately to be met with a blood curdling scream from him.

“AAAHH GOD! WHAT THE…FUCK!!”

He hisses and winces, struggling with his body to push out the rod. “LIAM! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! GET! IT! OUT! OF! ME!!” He continues screaming and a wicked smile curls on my face. For my enjoyment, I held my index finger and my thumb on the end of the rod, twisting and pulling then pushing it back inside of Zayn. My cock is at a throbbing state from the anal pain that Zayn is going through.

“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” He’s clenching over and over….and oh, slight blood is starting to drip. “GET IT OUT! STOP IT! NO, STOP!” Zayn’s nude body stays tense as tears falls from his eyes yet his weak limbs are trying to find a way out of those straw ropes.

I know for a fact that it would take a while for the ropes to loosen up. Until then, Zayn will have to suffer.


	3. Chapter 3

“I remember a time where I was a kid, growing up on the mean streets of Compton, with my mother but no father and no siblings. We was dirt poor, living like maggots and lacking of most basic needs. Luckily, we had shelter, well half of it. Most of the roof was worn down like shoes that has been worn 24/7 for years without any proper care or the mere thought of maintenance. I am, without a doubt, the only person in the world who consumed the most amount of mayonnaise sandwiches and chicken flavored ramen noodles along with grape kool-aid and the substitute for any type of carbonated beverage would be water with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice. We was poor, struggling and begging. We was ready to give up. No materials, no breaks and no sympathy from anyone who was above us or had an actual decent income. But what I did, I changed my life. I changed my life, by making choices that I knew that were to benefit me later. School was the start. School changed my life. Here I am, with a quality home, food to eat, fresh water to drink, money in the bank and a decent life to live.”

I share this with Zayn as I slowly fucks him, with two extra rods inside of him. His screams are nearly deafening and I can barely hear my own voice. I kept talking regardless because I thought he would learn something from my own autobiography.

“YOU’RE A SICK FUCK! LET ME GO! LET ME FUCKING GO!”  Zayn still struggles, despite the pain that he’s in and the blood pouring out of his asshole bit by bit.

“You have such a mouth. I listened to you for far too long.” I made a decision to go back to the storage room for my favorite plier. The consequence for Zayn’s ongoing verbal outburst is that I will rip out his tongue. “I’ll be right back. Gotta get something.” Zayn’s body jerks out of shock when I pulled my cock out. He could be feeling relief or not. It is not my concern.

“FUCK! AAH SHIT! THAT FUCKING HURT! YOU FUCKER! YOU SICK FUCKER! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

Zayn’s words becomes muffled as I exits my bedroom, going to the storage room. There’s distinct sounds of the headboard and the footboard banging and squeaking and continual curses flows out of my victim’s mouth. As soon as my hand on grasped around the plier from the second table of devices, there are no more sounds heard. It’s unexpected and alarming, causing me to rush back quickly to my bedroom.

“Shit. FUCK!” I throw the plier at the wall, and a new, small hole is formed in the wall. Somehow and for some reason, Zayn is no longer on the bed anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter because of how crazy Liam is.

I think Zayn should have thought his little, unprepared plan through because I can clearly see the trail of blood going from my bedroom to my bathroom. The bathroom door is closed and there are sounds of whimpers and grunts along with sudden shrieks which indicates that Zayn is trying to take the metal rods out of his asshole. I know for a fact that it is not easy taking out hard objects out of your asshole while blood squelches out and the painful nerves vibrates through your rectum.

It’s no kiddie ride.

What astonishes me is how the hell he got out of those ropes. I tied him up nice and properly. Fucking bastard. What an ungrateful bastard. I gave Zayn the best liquor, I welcomed him into my home and I let him bleed on my bed, my expensive and rare bed. The anger and rage is higher than it was and I feel…like a monster. I am a monster.

I calmly walks to the bathroom door, turning on the doorknob but the door doesn’t open. Zayn had locked himself inside. “Motherfucker.” I mumbles, punching a small hole on the door. “Open the door, Zayn. Come on….don’t be a fuckin’ tease. Open the fuckin’ door.”

“NO! FUCK OFF, YOU SICK FUCK! I’LL OPEN IT WHEN I’M GOOD AND READY TO KICK YOUR ASS AND KILL YOU!” He screamed and I laughed. This guy thinks that he can kill me. It’s almost comical to me and I laugh with a mighty bass in my voice, ending with high pitched squeaks. I stood a few inches away from the door, looking straight at the middle and talks to the door as if I am talking to Zayn right in his face.

I state to the door as I point my fingers at it, “You think that you…” Then points at myself. “Can kill me? _ME_? You can think you can kill me? You want to kill me? Who do you think you’re talking to, Zayn? HUH? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO?” The anger is hard to contain. The results of my anger are me continually punching at the door with my fists and kicks from my feet. Primal yells flows from my mouth as I destroy my door, hoping to break through so I can finally kill the motherfucker, who actually believes that he can kill me.

Me? No, I don’t think so.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t come in here! Leave me alone! I need to go to the hospital!” Zayn yelled back with an obvious pain in his voice. Either the bleeding is getting worse or he just doesn’t want to be murdered.

“This is my bathroom! You don’t tell me what to do! This is my motherfuckin’ bathroom, you fuckin’ cocksucker! I can come in there and when I do, you better do what the fuck I say! Open the goddamn door, Zayn! NOW! OPEN IT NOW! OPEN THE FUCKIN’ DOOR NOW, YOU UNSUCCESSFUL, LOW CLASS MOTHERFUCKER!”

I had recently noticed that the angrier I get, the more thoughts and deep feelings inside of me that comes out with no intention of coming out. In my earlier years of being a teenager, I suffered verbal and slight physical abuse from my mother and aunts and a few male cousins. They always told me what to do, what to say and to obey. I did not enjoy listening to their authorities but if I didn’t, they would slap me around for a bit or call me a “cocksucker” and always complain about me being alive with no class or taste. Supposedly, I wasn’t on their “level” so they treated me like shit.

I don’t blame them for doing so. I was a poor boy with nothing to prove. At the present, I have so much to prove and I am proving it to Zayn.

“I am telling you for one last time, Zayn….open this door.”

There’s a pause. I can hear footsteps and verbal winces. This gets my hopes up high and I concluded that Zayn is coming to his senses. I went from angry and ballistic to calmer and happy. His alto toned voice spoke to me behind the closed door. “Fuck off.”

Never mind. I am angry again.

“MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” My first instinct is to go back to the storage room to get a hatchet, a strong one that can actually attempt to break through another metal component with less density. I quickly grab it from the table and goes to break down my bathroom door even more, repeatedly smashing the hatchet on my door. Extra holes are formed on my door and I can see Zayn through them. He’s sat on the floor over a puddle of dark blood, crouching to himself with fear in his eyes and shock is painted on his face.

“I told you…” Another hit from the hatchet lands on the door. “To open this fuckin’ door, didn’t I? _DIDN’T I_?”

What threw me off is Zayn’s quiet prayer to which ever god that he believes in. His eyes are closed and his hands are locked together, resting under his forehead as he chants and cries. It’s a beautiful sight, very rare. It reminds me of my own religious upbringing. My mother taught me to say my prayers every night and every morning, thanking god for what I did have even though I didn’t have much. This sight of Zayn doing it, touched a place in my heart but however, it won’t stop me from doing what I wanted to do in the first place.

Maybe he was distracted or he didn’t expect it but his reflexes are terrible and he ended up getting a hit to the face from my hatchet. Blood spurts from the new gash yet his body still struggles. “YOU FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE! STUPID ASS! YOU THINK I WANTED TO KILL YOU LIKE THIS? I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO KILL YOU LIKE THIS!” I yelled at Zayn. I had an entire different plan on how to torture him and how to end his life. He fucking ruined it by escaping and hiding in my bathroom. It was not supposed happen this way. This wasn’t….this wasn’t the way I wanted him to die.

Stupid Zayn.

“YOU THINK I’M ENJOYING THIS? FUCK! FUCK! FUCKER! YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO DIE LIKE THIS, ZAYN!” I kept smashing the hatchet at his body and face. I opened his skull, churning up his brain. His lips came off and his eyes came out. His left arm is close to being dismembered and I can see his spleen. “FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE! WHY DID YOU DO THAT, ZAYN? HUH? WHY DID YOU ESCAPE!? YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED ON MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ BED! NOT HERE! NOT HERE! NOT FUCKIN’ HERE, ON MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ FLOOR, IN MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ BATHROOM, YOU STUPID FUCK!”

My final hit is to Zayn’s chest, near his heart. My white, gold and brown color themed bathroom is covered in red and fluids of different organs. I asked so many questions to my victim and I’ve received no answer from him. My anger and my rage are gone. But I am not happy. Depression washes over me because Zayn shouldn't have died that way. He should have died in my bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liam's crazy, huh?


End file.
